


Anomalies of the Heart

by Mouse10



Series: Of Oak and Laurel [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood and Injury, Case Fic, Drug Use, Homosexuality, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, No Underage Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smoking, University Student Sherlock, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-12 15:59:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 20,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11740371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouse10/pseuds/Mouse10
Summary: Still in recovery from his overdose, university student Sherlock Holmes struggles to get his life together and meets a new flatmate who may just change his life for the better.





	1. Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We loved with a love that was more than love--Edgar Allan Poe

John Watson is getting ready to go to physical therapy. It has been 3 months since he was shot in Kandahar and completely shattered his shoulder. It has been a very long recovery, but now at least, he is back in the UK. He thinks that the emotional recovery has been more difficult than the physical one, really. The largest hurdle, now that he is back on his own two feet, has been deciding exactly who he is now. He certainly knew who he was before he was shot. He was a soldier, a combat medical technician. As good with a stethoscope as with a gun. A helper really, a healer. 

The pain in his arm makes the rest of his body feel old. It's frustrating to not be as active as he used to be. He can’t lift weights, he can’t run. He has difficulty sleeping. He is tired in the day and awake at night. His friends from the army are still back in Afghanistan. His friends from school are now out of university, either working or pursuing additional studies. All he has now is time. He tries to read, tries to watch telly. John finds that he just stares at the telly, nothing keeping his interest. He picks up books just to put them down again. 

John has recovered sufficiently enough to think about maybe planning a new life out of the military. He is aware that he will not be able to stay in the army with such as debilitating injury, he will likely never be the same physically as he once was. Before this all he concentrated on was recovery. Rehabilitation through the pain. He has weaned himself from the pain medication. He does not take very much now. Just before the PT, well maybe sometimes after PT, too. 

On good days, he thinks about going to university. He is still in his early 20s-he could fit in. On bad days…well he tries not to dwell on the bad days. John feels much better since meeting Mary, a rehab nurse who has apparently taken a liking to him. She visits him every day to offer an encouraging word. She tells him jokes. Small and blonde, she has a sunny disposition. She is talkative and funny. She makes him laugh through the pain. She does not pity him. 

John thinks Mary likes him, her flirty eyes seem to sparkle when she smiles at him. It makes him feel like not as much as a failure and an invalid. Of course, it’s not his fault he got shot. But his invalid arm certainly reminds him he is no longer the young man he used to be. 

John has always prided himself on his success with women. His friends from school joked about how randy he was because he had a steady stream of girlfriends in school. Most just lasted a year or two. John was not always sure how the girls felt about him, but he was never serious about anyone. Had lots of fun, but never felt anything like love, really. He broke up with the last one when he entered the military. It would just be too hard to keep up such a long-distance relationship. He did not have a relationship with anyone while in the military, but he came close a few times. He really wanted to. Too much going on, though. Hard to have a relationship in the middle of a war. 

When he wakes up in the morning, his muscles are very sore and his leg hurts. On bad days, the leg pain can last all day long. The pain will be worse after his rehab exercises. He often tries to get through without pain medication. But a stiff drink helps, too. John occasionally needs a cane to brace his leg as he walks and to provide some stability.  
When he does sleep, there are the nightmares. The roadside bombs, the ieds, the screams. He tries to concentrate on the fact that he is lucky when so many other soldiers weren’t, but this is hard. He lays awake, just staring at the ceiling, thinking.

While in the military, John was always content with his role. A medic, always in the thick of the action. Helping. Healing, rescuing. The Watson family did not have the money to send him to university. Although his grades were good, they weren’t remarkable. Deep in the back of his mind was a yearning to become a doctor, but because his family could not afford it anyway, he didn’t try with his grades, it would not have mattered. He occasionally felt foolish thinking maybe his injury was an opportunity to remake himself. Go to university and then medical school. Maybe. He wonders if he is foolish to hope.

When John looks in the mirror, he does not see the same young man who went right from secondary school to the army. No gap year for him. John sees a different man in the mirror, older, wiser, more cautious. He still has a bit of a tan left, still muscular with broad shoulders, but his eyes look different-less of a sparkle there, he realizes, sadly.  
John has just one more week here in the rehab hospital and then he’ll be out of the military for good. Formally discharged. Mary has been asking him what his plan is. This irritates him, because he still does not know what his plan is. The military will give him a small pension, but this will not be enough to live on. He has to make a decision, a few decisions, really. 

Mary asks him every day now. This irritates him, but he does not want to snap at her. Not when he is close to asking her out on a real date. One sunny day, he feels good enough to take a walk. The fresh air will do him good, clear his head and this is a great way to avoid Mary and all of her questions.

The day is sunny but cold in London. He would like to reacquaint himself with the city and his mood is upbeat. He looks for a place to get a coffee. A few things have changed in the years he was away. He decides to cross the park to look for a café. 

“John! John Watson!” He turns to the sound of his name.

“Mike, hey! How are you?” he says, surprised to run into an old friend so fast./p>

Mike claps him on the good shoulder, thankfully. "John how have you been? I heard you were in Afghanistan.” Mike casts a look at John’s cane. “What happened to you?”  
“I got shot.” He states matter of factly and does not explain further. 

It was nice to see Mike. They were never great friends in school, but Mike was always kind and steadfast.

The young men walk to a cafe to sit down and have coffee. Mike has a lot to say. He filled John in on all he had been doing in the last few years. Uni, travel, girls, parties. Mike was in medical school, now. It sounded like he had lots of friends, was busy and happy. Mike was always a little on the heavy side, but he had gotten on even more in the last few years. 

Then came the dreaded question---the one that John does not want to answer. “What are you going to do with yourself now, John?”

‘I have no idea, really.” John did not want to get too maudlin in front of Mike. 

Mike was very supportive of the idea that John go back to school. The John Watson that Mike knew was always very sharp. Growing up, Mike knew that John was always busy and hated to be idle. He played rugby in school. He had lots of girls to date. He loved parties and was fun to be around. He did well in school, but could have done better, if not for the girls and the parties. They had a good laugh about that one. Mike supported his idea of trying to get into medical school, too. They both agreed that London was too sodding expensive. 

“Why not get a flat share?” Mike suggested. They both knew that John’s family could not help and his sister Harriet was unreliable at best. 

Not a bad idea, but at this point in his life he did not know anyone who needed a flatmate. And John knew he was as miserable as fuck and would be hard to live with.

“Who would want me as a flatmate?” he asked dejectedly, mostly to himself.

Mike chuckled, “You are the second person to say that to me today.”

“Who was the first?”  
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
Mike took John to Bart’s hospital talking all the way. Mike was always a big talker, even when John wasn’t. Talking passed the time, though. Mike led him into a lab. John had been remarking on some of the injuries he had seen in the military and some of the improvements in combat medicine and surgery he’d seen. Mike was very interested. He thought that John’s military experience would be a great asset in medical school. 

There was only one person in the lab when they got there. As a matter of fact, John was not sure why they walked all the way to Bart’s anyway.

Mike waved his arm towards the other person in the room, “John, meet Sherlock.”

A young man looked up at John, briefly. “Hello.” He was sitting at a lab table looking at a microscope. 

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” Sherlock turned back to the microscope, looking again into the eye pieces.

“Sorry?” John was confused.

“I said, ‘Afghanistan or Iraq’ ?” the young man said, smiling a bit and pleasantly repeating himself. 

“Afghanistan, why?”

“Well, you stand like someone who has been in the military. Straight back and look at your feet—it’s pretty obvious.” Sherlock observed, nodding towards John's feet. 

‘It is?” John shifted uncomfortably and looked at his feet.

“And you are in the medical profession of some sort, judging by your conversation with Mike upon entering this room.”

“I’m a medic.” He corrected himself, suddenly feeling nervous. “Was-was a medic.” What about my feet? he thought.

“You’ve been invalided, then? From the military, I mean.” Sherlock was nodding, assuming and was that really a question?

“Yes.” John answered. 

“Ok then, I play the violin when I’m thinking and sometimes I rarely talk for days- would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.” Sherlock said as he got up and put a coat on. 

“Who said anything about flatmates?” John was now officially confused by this turn of events. 

“I did.” Sherlock continued, crossing the room. 

John looked at Mike, “You told him about me?’

“No, how could I have, John? I was with you all morning.”

“I have my eye on a flat on Baker street, I think the both of us could afford it.” Sherlock walked to the door all the while wrapping a long blue scarf around his neck. 

He just continued to speak, not waiting for John to answer, “Got to run, I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.” Smiling, he made it to the door of the room.

“So, wait--just like that?” John did not like to be pushed around. Who did this bloke think he was? 

“Just like what?” Sherlock turned back and faced John.

“Wait, I don’t know anything about you and I don’t even know where we are meeting.”

“Well, I know that you been invalided home from the military-where you worked in the medical field, too young right now to be a doctor and that you are looking for a flatmate. I was just saying to Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. It’s also unlikely that you have a good relationship with your family-because if you did, you would be living with them for the time being. That’s enough to go on for now, isn't it? And the address is 221 B Baker street.”

Sherlock nodded at Mike, “Afternoon.” And went out the door of the lab.

John looked dumbfoundedly at Mike. “Yeah, he’s always like that.” Mike said and shrugged his shoulders. 

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
As John left Bart’s his head was in a tizzy. Just who was this bloke? He seemed awfully presumptuous. He was out all day, he had not even seen Mary. When he got back to his room, he saw a note on the table from Mary.

‘Missed you today.' the note said, in Mary's flowing script. 'You must be feeling better. Have fun. See you tomorrow.’ This made John smile. 

John decided that he would go and see the flat--what would be the harm? This new turn of events has given him some options now, when he didn’t have any just as of this morning. He felt cheered by the idea. He slept well for the first time in months.  
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
John met Sherlock just outside the Baker Street flat the next afternoon. The young man seemed to be in a good mood as he jumped out of a taxi. John had a minute to get a good look at his potential flatmate. He was taller than than John and thin but muscular. He had longish dark hair that sometimes fell into his eyes. He was often pushing it back off of his forehead. John wondered about Sherlock's schooling, his accent was a bit posher than the other blokes he knew, so maybe public school? John hoped he wasn’t a tosser. 

John remarked that this was an expensive area in London, Sherlock explained that the landlady was a friend and she was giving him a discount. He explained that he had helped her when her husband had gotten in trouble with the law and was facing the death penalty in the US. 

John wondered how such a young person could have done that. He guessed this was a story for another day. But John did ask if Sherlock helped to make sure the man was not executed.  
“Oh no, I ensured it.” Was the answer, catching John completely off guard. 

Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, was very nice, John thought, she had kissed Sherlock on the cheek affectionately when they met at the door. 

They went up the 17 steps to the flat. 

The flat was bigger than he’d imagined it and very messy. There were stacks of papers, books and journals everywhere. 

John thought it’d be great when it was cleaned up a bit. Then he realized Sherlock had already moved his things in and were scattered all over the flat. Piles and piles and piles. Not to mention the glass beakers and flasks all over the kitchen table. 

“Oh-well, I can clean up- a bit,” Sherlock rushed all around, tidying. Grabbing a pile of post, he jackknifed them to the mantelpiece. “There.” Smiling and looking at John he was seemingly satisfied with himself. 

OK, well they can work on it. John thought. 

“Well what do you think, John?-- there’s another bedroom upstairs-- if you'll be needing two bedrooms,” Mrs. Hudson offered with a warm smile

“Of course, we’ll needing two bedrooms. “ John answered, perplexed. 

“How about that boy, Sherlock, missing. It’s in all the papers. Poor lad, all the kids on drugs these days.”

“I suspect they’ll find him in the river, Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock said seriously, slowly. 

“The river, why? How awful!” she shook her head sadly. 

“Not sure, Mrs. Hudson. Still trying to sort this one out, but maybe this conversation is for another day.” Sherlock looked at his watch. “It’s time for me to go.”

Sherlock looked at John and tilted his head toward the door. ‘John?’

As the boys leave the flat, Sherlock mentions, “John, um, you don’t have to decide now, take your time-about the flat. But I have to dash- I have a meeting with the MET.”

“The MET?” to John this was just about the most impossible thing for this young man to say right now.

John thought of something funny. “Parole officer?” he asked with a smile, looking at Sherlock with a twinkle in his eyes. 

This made Sherlock chuckle. “Yeah, something like that.” Then, “Hey do you want to come with me?” he asked as he hailed a taxi. 

A meeting at New Scotland Yard. Sure, John had nothing to do.

They got a taxi. John was bursting with curiosity of just what is going on with this bloke. He asks a few tentative questions. "Well, what do you do?”

“Well, right now I am finishing up university. And I also work occasionally with the police.” Sherlock explained. 

“The Metropolitan police? At Scotland Yard? Are you joking?” John asked, fascinated. 

“Do I look like I’m joking? Occasionally. When they need me.”

“When they need you?”

“Do you always repeat yourself?”

“No.”

John has never been to New Scotland Yard. Sherlock breezed right in the front door of the building like he owned he place. No one stopped him, a few people acknowledged him by saying hello or waving. John trailed behind, following him to an office on the first floor. A secretary sitting in front of the door waved them in. “He’s free.”

“Hi Sherlock, who’s this?” an older man, dark hair with a few silver streaks of grey, serious but pleasant.

“Detective Lestrade, this is John Watson. Recently of Kandahar.” Sherlock says simply. “Ok, tell me about this one.”

“Male, Age 22, last night after drinking with friends, got separated and never made it home. Same as the other 2.” Detective Lestrade explained, pointing to a few piles of folders on his desk. 

“Other two?” John whispers.

“Yes John, apparently, we have a serial killer in London. Well, the one we know about, anyway.” said Sherlock. ``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````John watched Sherlock discuss the case with Lestrade with fascination. He could not believe this morning he awoke in his bed and now he was here at New Scotland Yard discussing a criminal investigation with one of the detectives. With a bloke he just met who looks all of 17 years old. John was not sure Sherlock even shaved. 

John just sat there in wonder, watching. Looking from Sherlock to Lestrade as they went over the facts of the case. 

The facts of the case. Looks like this was the third similar case in a row. But the other 2 similar cases were not recently. There were 2 other young men whose bodies were recovered from the Thames in the winter. One last winter, the other one 2 winters before.

“How do you know it’s a serial killer?” John wondered aloud. 

“Well, we do and we don’t.” says Lestrade. 

‘Well, from what the cases are and what they are not.” says Sherlock.

John’s head spins.


	2. Reset

Once the young men left Scotland Yard, John’s decision was made. He would take the flat. He decided to part from Sherlock, and make his way back to his room at the rehab hospital.

This time, he managed not to miss Mary. He practically ran into her as she was leaving his room.

“John!” she said, surprise and delight on her face. 

“Mary!” 

“Where have you been?” She seemed surprised to find him not in his room for the second day in a row. 

“Well, believe it or not, I was just looking at a flat.” 

“Wow! Where?”

“Baker street.”

“London? Great! That’s great! Must be expensive.” Mary knew he was not flush with money.

“No actually, I’m getting a flat share.”

“I’m impressed. With who?”

“With a friend of a friend.”

John explained to Mary how he ran into Mike Stamford, an old classmate and as they spoke, one thing lead to another and Mike introduced him to another friend who was also looking for a flatmate. 

“And…” John stopped. He decided to leave out the part about his visit to Scotland Yard. He really didn’t understand just yet who Sherlock was and where any of this might lead, so he decided to just not mention the crazier part of his day.

He looked at Mary. “And…?” She said expectantly, smiling.

“And well, I think it just might work out.”  
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
John couldn’t sleep. He laid in the bed staring at the ceiling thinking about the case Sherlock discussed with the police detective. 3 young men who after a night of drinking with friends went missing. 2 who later were found in the Thames. No signs of foul play, they said. Drinking? Yes- they said as much. Drugs? No—no drugs found in the blood, they said. No signs of trauma to the body. Bodies found months later. It would be difficult to find a body in a large heavily-trafficked river like the Thames, he thought. 

1 young man recently missing.

Why would a uni student like Sherlock be involved in something like this? Why would he care? It boggles the mind, John thought.  
````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
John moved into Baker street without any fanfare. He moved all of his things into the bedroom at the top of the stairs. He was able to move everything himself, he did not have much.

The first week flew by. John was delighted to be out of the hospital. He felt like a new man. 

His flatmate was something to get used to, though. John had never met anyone like Sherlock. He was truly a contradiction in terms. He was neat, his clothes were impeccable, he always looked as if he were going either to a serious business meeting or off to some posh office. He was also messy-his papers were all over the table and desk, and occasionally on the floor. His habits were regular, up early, off to class or the lab every morning, without fail. His habits were irregular-if John came down for a glass of water in the middle of the night he might be in the sitting room, reading--books and papers spread all around him on the floor or sofa. He played his violin at all hours of the day or night, just as he said.

Some days John thought he was brilliant, as he watched Sherlock discuss seemingly inconsequential details of a crime scene with Detective Lestrade and watch Lestrade hang on his every word. Other days, John wasn’t so sure.

John found it funny that although Sherlock was pretty near his own age, he was not at all familiar with common popular culture. Ancient Sumerian, maybe, what is playing at the university cinema down the street, doubtful. 

John spoke to Mary a few times on the phone. She accepted his offer of a date. They were to go to the cinema then out for a pint on Saturday. John was very excited. Things were finally looking up for him.   
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
John still hadn't sorted out what he might do for a job. He did fill out applications for university, that was heading in the right direction, he thought. If things went well, he could start maybe after winter break. Without a job, the money in the bank was pretty low. Soon he'd have to stop eating take away and cook more often. But, not yet. 

The Friday night of the first week, John and Sherlock were both reading quietly in the sitting room. John realized he would need to sort out dinner soon, maybe take away he thought. He still wasn’t sure what Sherlock liked, come to think of it, he had yet to see the man eat. 

“John?” Sherlock began suddenly. 

“Yes?”

“Um…I wanted to test out a theory... that would require a trip, um, further, into town. I wanted to know if you would come along with me, but…,” he hesitated, “I didn’t want to put any- stress- on-- your leg.” 

“Where? How far? I’m sure it'd be OK.” Good, no take away, John thought. 

“Oh? Good. Well, as you know, I am still looking into the deaths of those 2 young men, the third one still missing,” and Sherlock hesitated again, “I need to go to a pub.” he looked at John. 

Sherlock stopped and looked seriously at John, carefully measuring his words, John was unsure why. 

“I thought it would be better to go along with another person, a-a friend…, or another person,” he repeated. “So as not to look suspicious.”

‘To a pub?” John asked. "You don’t have to ask me twice, Sherlock. Sure I’ll go.”


	3. Not a Date

John and Sherlock took a taxi to the center of town. They got out in front of a pub and then went in. Sherlock took the time to explain some of his thoughts regarding the case to John.

“I can show you the map I created of all of the pubs the men went to on the nights they disappeared.”

“Do they have anything in common?”

“No.” Sherlock said as he walked briskly, almost in front of John, leading him. 

John laughed. “Well don’t you think that is insignificant then?”

“No not at all, it is very significant.”

“Why?”

“Just because there are no similarities at all. Therefore, we know to look elsewhere.”

They got to the pub. They went in sat down and ordered a pint each. “Sherlock, why are we here, exactly?”

Sherlock looked around as he drank. “It’s very important to try to recreate the path of each man on the nights they disappeared.”

“Who has time for that?” John wondered aloud. 

“Well I do, considering no one else has any leads at all.”

John looked blankly at Sherlock.

“Also, it’s important to try to get into not only the mind of the serial killer but the mind of the victim as well.” Sherlock looked at John earnestly. 

“Sherlock, do you mind if I ask you--- how old are you?”

“18, I’ll be 19 in January.” Sherlock downed his pint. “Got to go.” He jumped up.

“Oh, ok.” John followed.

They walked down the street. “Sherlock, you don’t mean to try to re-create the paths of all of those blokes all in one night, do you?”

“No, not at all. Hungry?”

‘Starved.”

They went into a small Italian restaurant. Sherlock walked right in, he said hello to the busboy, the waiter and sat at a table marked 'reserved'. John thought he looked very comfortable here as he took off his coat and scarf.

“Sherlock!” A larger older man came over to the table. “Good to see you!” he patted Sherlock on the shoulder.

“Hello Angelo. John this is Angelo.”

“Anything you want! On the house, for you and your date!” he handed John a menu with a big smile.

“Oh, I’m not his date.” John protested, laughing a bit.

Angelo walked away. “You may as well eat.” Sherlock said. “It’s very hard for me to eat when I’m working.”

“Sherlock, why do people think we are dating?” John asked as he started on his salad. 

“I don’t know, but I find it amusing as well.” Sherlock said almost absentmindedly as he looked intently out the window.

“Are you dating anyone?” John asked abruptly. 

“No, are you?” Sherlock looked at John.

“Well, I-- Mary is a nurse at the re-hab hospital. We have a date tomorrow-were going to the cinema and maybe out for a pint, but it’s our first date.”

“Oh.” Sherlock turned back to looking out the window.

“What are you looking at out the window?”

“Oh, I’m keeping an eye on that office, there.” Sherlock does not take his eyes from the window. He nods his head in the direction of a row of storefronts to the right.  
John turns to look out the window behind him.

“Why?”

“Well, I think the murders have something to do with drugs.”

“Drugs? Street drugs?”

“No- actually, anesthesia.”

“How?”

“For a number of reasons. Oh look, he’s leaving.” Sherlock gets up, grabs his coat and leaves the restaurant.

“Who’s leaving? Where are you going? Sherlock? Hey!” John has not finished his salad, Sherlock does not answer him on his way out the door. 

Sighing and still hungry, John grabs his coat and follows him out.


	4. A late night discussion

John does his best to keep up with Sherlock. He yells for him to slow down, but he does not. Wait-- maybe he does, John thinks. But then as soon as it looks like John is going to catch up to him, Sherlock darts off again. John was a good runner in the military, normally he can keep up with anyone. He likes a challenge. It’s pretty dark now, he almost loses him a few times around twists, turns and dark alleyways. John is not sure who the hell they are chasing after anyway, but it apparent they have lost him-her?. Eventually, he notes they are close to Baker street. Sherlock slows down and he catches up to him. “Bloody hell Sherlock-- who were you chasing?” “A local dentist.” Out of breath, they lean against a stone wall. “Couldn’t you have just called if you needed an appointment?” Sherlock laughs. “Not if I wanted to wake up again after my anesthesia.” “Wait, you don’t think…?” “No- I’m not sure. I have it narrowed down to a few, OK-- 10 names.” “That’s a lot of names. You can’t chase them all down.” “Yeah well, we have to start somewhere.” They got back to Baker Street and noticed a visitor and the front step. It was Angelo. In his hand was John’s cane. “Hey, you left this.” he says as he hands it to John. “Thanks, Angelo.” John was in awe of his night chasing Sherlock all over London. It may have been the most fun he’d ever had. ``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` Sherlock discussed more details about the case with John when they got back to the flat. Sherlock was sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace talking and John was sitting on the sofa listening. He remembers when the first student went missing 3 years ago. He read it in the paper. He realized that it was a suspicious death right at the time, even if the police did not. There was no sense in haranguing the police, as it was a singular event and they were unlikely to see it as anything but. He filed it away for another day, though. He knew he could not go to the MET without more evidence. He knew he needed more dots in order to connect them. So, he waited. 

The second death, so similar as the first. The police still not alarmed. Just a young man who 'fell into the river' after a night of drinking. So as far as Sherlock was concerned, the deaths were suspicious. It was a pattern, but just what type of pattern and where would it lead. Young men, alcohol, alone, missing, found in the river. Lestrade listened, though. The third-ok now they could make it official. Each death occurred in the winter, when traffic on the river was lighter, less recreational boaters, less people, and during a very cold winter, a body could be kept-somewhere-on a boat, maybe-- with less risk of decay---buying the killer time. Too bad 3 young men had to die in order to make it official. 

As the years went on, Sherlock bided his time with research. Drowning deaths in rivers. If you look at the statistics of the victims who drown in rivers, you will find they did not just 'fall in' at the edge of the river. The exception would be those who do something intentional, like jump from a bridge. 

People who drown in rivers usually fall off a boat, not the river's edge. Or, Sherlock postulated, if they are sedated enough that when they are put in the river they are still breathing, then it could indeed look like an accidental drowning.

"Oh. Unless they were picked up by someone, taken somewhere, drugged and then placed in the river. We are looking for someone who has access to a powerful anesthetic, that they are knowledgeable about administering. Um,... and who has a boat." Sherlock summarily explained to John's abject fascination. 

"Oh!" suddenly Sherlock exclaimed, standing up from his seat. 

"What?"

"Picked up by someone! I am so happy I discussed this with you, John!"

"What is it Sherlock-- so you think the killer is a woman---and is picking up young men and taking them back to her place and killing them?"

"No John, the killer is a man."


	5. John and Mary's First Date

John left the flat to meet Mary at a pub nearby. He thought just a pint and the cinema would be a good low key first date. He also wanted to make sure it was something he could afford. 

When John entered the pub, he realized with a sinking feeling just what night it was. A big local football match had just ended and the pub was full of rowdy spectators. Well, they wouldn’t be here long, John will make sure of it.

Mary was already there when he got there. She did not live in the city, so had to come in on the tube. She waved cheerfully to him and gave him a big hug when he got to the table. 

“John! So good to see you! You look great!” She looked very relieved to see him.

“Thanks, Mary, so do you,” he said, smiling. They spent about an hour talking about what John had been doing since his discharge. He told her he had started to apply to university and that he liked his flat, it was centrally located and was now considering looking or a job.

‘I’d like to see your flat sometime,’ Mary mentioned. 

“That would be great.” John smiled.

Mary was delighted to hear all of his good news. Nothing had changed in the meantime for her, she laughed, the only person with exciting news here was John.  
All of a sudden John was wide eyed as he looked up at the pub door and saw a familiar figure stride in. “Sherlock…?” he said under his breath.

“What?” Mary asked turning toward the front of the pub, where John was looking.

“Not a what---a who.” John explained.

Sherlock spotted them and was coming right to their table. John looked up as he came over to them and said, “Sherlock, hi, what are you doing here?” just slightly brusquely. 

“John! Hello and I presume this is Mary. Hello, Mary.” He sat down right beside John, shoving him over slightly and motioned for the waitress.

Now John was frowning and sighing, “Mary, this is Sherlock, my new flatmate.”

“Hello Sherlock, nice to meet you.” Mary said pleasantly. /p>

John repeated himself, “Sherlock, what are you doing here?”

“Well John, as you know, I am making a concerted effort to visit a list of pubs." as he took out a folded piece of paper. "I am just doing research, after all.” Sherlock smiled and winked at Mary. John is not sure if he ever saw Sherlock smile. Well, not like that, anyway. 

“And fancy meeting you two here!” He said, eyes wide.

“Well Sherlock, we were just about leaving. Mary and I are on our way to the cinema.” John determined, reached for his coat. 

“It’s ok, John,” Mary interjected, smiling and patting John on the arm, “We can stay until Sherlock finishes his pint.” She is being polite, John thought. 

John sighed, “OK,” he said. 

John was eager to leave well before Sherlock finished his pint. Once they were all finished, they made their way towards the door. John wasn't sure what Sherlock's plan was, but he was determined that Sherlock was not going to accompany them to the cinema, no matter what. It was difficult to make their way through the crowded pub. Revelers everywhere, they were jostled repeatedly by sweaty drunk football fans, mostly male. 

“Oi!” said a large sweaty bloke, as they made their way past a large group. He man turned and looked like he was going to get angry at Mary, then his face changed when he saw that it was a petite woman behind him, “Oh lookie what we have here! A pretty one!” With a big grin, he made his way to put his large sweaty arm around her. 

“Oh! Sorry—we were just leaving.” Mary said, embarrassed, shrinking and trying to get away gingerly from the man.

“Where you goin’ love?” He said, leaning in and making to pull her closer. Mary smiles and tries not to grimace as he breathes heavily near her face.

“Hey, excuse me sir, she’s with me,” John intervenes firmly and takes Mary’s arm, gently leading her away from the heavily drinking, rowdy group. 

“Oi, George!” The sweaty bloke's friend said, “leave her alone, you’re so handy when you drink, George!” he puts his arm about George and leans on him heavily, smiling. 

George is not having it. “I am not!” George said, pushing his friend hard on the shoulder. His friend's face contorts and he takes a swing at George. 

“She's not interested in you, George.” The friend taunts George, aware that he is already too drunk for reason.

George pulls out knife.

John is aware now that Sherlock has doubled back and is right at his elbow. "John, take Mary to the door, I’ll meet you outside." he says in John's ear

John and Mary headed straight for the door as Sherlock approached the men. Sherlock steps in between them, says “Excuse me,” and grabs the knife wielding right forearm of George, kicking his feet out from under him with his right leg. 

George hits the sticky wet pub floor dazed and the knife is in Sherlock’s hand. The waitress is at Sherlock’s elbow. Sherlock takes the towel from her tray, wraps the knife and hands it to the waitress. “You can give this to the police, if you feel the need to call them.” And walks out with John and Mary.

Standing on the pavement outside the pub, Mary said, “Oh Sherlock, oh my God! What did you do in there?”

“Well Mary, I could not let that man wield that weapon in his state. He was much too intoxicated to have a knife.” Sherlock explained.

“And that’s the understatement of the year.” Said John.

“Well John, shouldn’t I have done?” Asked Sherlock, turning towards John, frowning and looking confused.

“No Sherlock, of course. It was fine, better than fine. Brilliant, actually, thank you.” He smiled at his flat mate. 

“John-- that’s right, where’s your cane?” Mary marveled as she suddenly realized he did not his cane with him.

“Well actually, Mary, my leg is better, much better, I have been walking and running fine without it. I leave it home now.” John gave a sideways glance in Sherlock's direction.

“Wow, that’s great.” Mary looks from Sherlock to John and says, “Well, um boys, I’m going to go. I’ve actually had quite enough excitement for one evening and I’m going to go home.” John was disappointed but did not want to press Mary. He told her he understood. Sherlock and John walked her to the tube station and they parted. The boys walked wordlessly back to Baker street. After the excitement in the pub and the disappointment of the ruined date, John did not much feel like going to the cinema, either. 

John decided to turn in early. He went to bed and sometime in the middle of the night, was woken up by the sound of violin music. He walked down the stairs to see his flatmate in his dressing gown and track pants playing the violin in front of the window. Sherlock stopped playing and looked up. 

“Oh, don’t stop,” John said, “what were you playing?” he went to get a glass of water. 

“Paganini, Caprice #4 in d minor.” Sherlock answered.

“Oh, it’s great. The part you were playing though--it’s a bit sad.” John said from the kitchen.

‘I guess it is.”

“Goodnight, Sherlock.” John said as he made his way back up the stairs.

“Good night, John.”


	6. Mycroft's Club

Sherlock has to go see his brother at least every 4 weeks. He knows that it just makes his brother feel better to see him in person and get a regular update on what is going on in his life. In the past, Sherlock had tried to do the update by phone, because that way, Mycroft would not be able to make note of pupil size, weight loss, reddened sclera and track marks. That plan did not fly, however. 

His regular pilgrimage to Mycroft’s club is often uneventful. Sherlock knows that Mycroft feels very responsible for him, since the death of their father when Sherlock was a baby. Mrs. Holmes, although very affectionate, took the death of her husband very hard and left the care of the boys often to the nanny. Sherlock bristles under the scrutiny of his older brother but is aware that things may have been easier for him if their family structure had been more, well….traditional. 

Sherlock is surprised that this time there is no criticism. He is used to being cautioned and reprimanded by his brother. The meeting goes so well, he wonders if he missed something. 

“I see your new flatmate is an ex-soldier.” Mycroft observes.

“Yes.”

“And may very well be well suited for a career as a doctor.” Mycroft does not look up at his brother, just moves some files into piles on his desk.

“Yes.”

“And you are still working with Scotland Yard.” Continues Mycroft. 

“Loosely, yes.”

“You are convinced that you are on the path of a serial killer, then?” Mycroft asks politely, looking up at his brother. 

“Pretty sure.”

“Well, at least you are staying busy. How is Mrs. Hudson? Losing a business and having a spouse executed must be hard on a person.” he nods sympathetically. 

“She’s well, thanks. Mycroft, aren’t you going to scold me for something?” Sherlock is slightly agitated now by his brother’s line of questioning and sits up on the edge of his chair.

“Why whatever for? This is the calmest and most productive your life has ever been.”


	7. Mycroft meets John

Mycroft Holmes has a full life. Devoted to work, he can be usually found in his office, at his desk. Consistently productive and sought after for advice and acumen, he practically runs his department singlehandedly. 

When Sherlock visits, he notes that Mycroft has a fleet of PAs. They are often youngish, leggy women, quiet, efficient and very, very smart. Mycroft would not tolerate otherwise.  
Mycroft detests fieldwork. He does not like to exert himself. He was never into sport and very much like his brother, could usually be found in the library when at school. He did fence and try martial arts like his brother, but unlike him, did not have the aptitude or stamina to finish either training. 

One evening, after classes were over, Sherlock was laying on the sofa and John was in the kitchen. The discussion of dinner had not come up yet, as they had both just come home. All of a sudden, John heard Sherlock say, “Bugger!”

“What is it?” John asks, alarmed, from the kitchen. 

“My brother.” Sherlock says in disgust, pointing at the door to the flat. 

“How do you know?”

"I have listened to his footfalls all of my life." Sherlock sat up, swinging his long legs off the sofa and standing up in once graceful motion. 

'Footfalls'-- John is not sure he would have chosen that word.

Indeed, there was a knock at the door. Mrs. Hudson could be heard in the hall calling up in her lilting voice, “Oh Boys- you have a visitor!”

Sherlock opened the door and in walked Mycroft.

“What are you doing here.” This was not a question. 

“Nice to see you, too, Sherlock. I can’t come to visit my brother?” he says as he steps into the room.

‘John---this is my brother Mycroft, who is here to spy on me--and you, be fairly warned.” Sherlock stands with his arms crossed in the center of the room, bristling. 

“Hello nice to meet you.” John held out his hand and shakes hands with Mycroft. 

“Fains, Sherlock, please-- I just wanted to invite you and your flatmate to dinner.” He says smiling. 

“Great!” Says John smiling.

“Only if you insist, Mycroft.” Sherlock has not softened, because he knows this is not a social call, no matter how pleasant his brother appears to be to the untrained eye. 

“But I do.” He is leaning on an umbrella, no hint of rain today, though.

“Fine. Get your coat, John.” 

“I’ll let you two chose, my treat. Only one caveat—no pub food, please.” 

“John make no mistake, this is an interview.” Sherlock quietly warns John while buttoning his jacket on the way down the stairs.

“Who is he interviewing?” John whispers. 

“You.”

John swallows hard, “Oh?”

“I have a caveat then.” Sherlock says to his brother, as they get into the waiting black car with a driver. 

“What?” Mycroft sighs, close to regretting his decision to take his brother out. 

“Je ne veux pas aller a’ l’escargot.” Sherlock requests.*

“Ok, alours ou?” Mycroft asks. 

“N’importe ou ailleurs.” He shrugs.

And John just stares between them.

Sherlock had a simple request for his brother, only just not to take them to the most expensive French restaurant in London. He really wanted to avoid L’ Escargot---so John would not be intimidated any more than he already will be by Mycroft. 

So, Mycroft took them to a much less daunting place that still had an oyster bar. Sherlock wondered why he was being so nice. Options were, he wanted something vs. he was trying to catch either of them off guard. Mycroft ordered a bottle of wine. Sherlock was grateful for the wine, as he often was. He drank his first glass mostly in one gulp. 

Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

They ordered easily. Sherlock was happy that there was no quail or suckling pig on the menu. John was just sipping at his wine, looking mildly uncomfortable.

Mycroft started the inevitable inquiry. “So John, tell me about yourself.” 

“Well, I have just been discharged from the military after getting shot in the shoulder. I completed re-hab here in London. I am applying to university with the long-term goal of maybe getting into medical school. And looking for a job, soon.” He took a sip of his wine and looked sideways at Sherlock.

“And how do you find living with my brother?”

“I find it fine, really. Why-- did you expect a problem?” John sat up straighter and fixed Mycroft with a steady gaze. 

Sherlock snickered and looked away. Maybe he should not be worried about John.

“Well um, no.” Mycroft was re positioning his fork. “You must understand John, that as family, we do have a long history.”

“I’m sure you do.” John’s wine was gone. 

As Sherlock sat there thinking and drinking, he wondered why the pretense of the dinner and the socializing, when Mycroft could more easily get all the information he wanted on John or anyone else, for that matter.

Sherlock's second glass of wine was gone. The dinner was delicious, really. Despite his brother, Sherlock was in a good mood. Mycroft was not too bad and he did not seem to be divulging any of Sherlock’s secrets to John. For the time being, anyway.

“I don’t know if you are aware, John, my brother is only 18 and he is almost done with university. He has been on his own-faring-mostly- for himself--for quite some time now.”

“You would think that would be to his credit.” John said, sitting up and pushing his plate away slightly.

“Well, there have been some…bumps.” Mycroft polished off the remainder of his wine.

And here come all of his secrets, Sherlock sighed, exposed to the world. Or just John Watson.

“Well, ‘no one here gets out alive’, as they say,” John laughed. “We have all had bumps, Mycroft. I’m sure even you.”

Bravo, John. Sherlock thought.

```````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
After the dinner with his brother, Sherlock could not help admiring his new flatmate. He realized that it all went very well, when it could have been much more of a disaster. He had never met anyone like John Watson. 

John was someone who continually surprised him. The most striking thing that stunned Sherlock was John’s tolerance. Sherlock realized that John and his Grandmere had some personality traits in common, which made Sherlock laugh. John did not press Sherlock at all for information. He just seemed to take events as they came. When John did ask questions, he accepted the answers given and did not argue, much. His observations and associations were keen.

Sherlock was much more used to the constant verbal sparring and one-upmanship that he had with his brother or the dismissiveness and derisiveness of others, including ‘friends’. On the other hand, there were those people who pursued Sherlock and wanted something from him. John was none of these things. Even when obviously uncomfortable in the presence of his brother, John kept his quiet composure. Sherlock remembered his steady nerves during the ‘pub fight’ that they had sidestepped. Sherlock marveled at John Watson, the soldier. 

The next day they had a moment to compare notes about the dinner, which John said he enjoyed very much.

“Boy Sherlock, your brother is a piece of work, but really I think he does care about you.” John observed.

Sherlock relented, “And he hides it pretty well.”


	8. Not Planning a Christmas Party

John decided to accept a job at the local A & E. He would be a medical assistant with his training from the military, drawing blood, assisting with procedures. He would work part time, off hours, as that’s when they were busiest. He received an acceptance letter to university and could start after Christmas.

Mary and John were steadily dating. Due to Mary’s schedule, they usually went out once per week and on occasion, John did not come back to Baker street directly after the date, but appeared the next morning wearing the same clothes.

Sherlock was still working with the MET, and had regular meetings with Lestrade, but the investigation had stalled. Sherlock still had his notes with 10 names of local dentists and was ticking them off one at a time. When he had time, he staked them out, followed them in the eves and tried to determine what they did in their ‘off’ time. He was frustrated because he was not making any progress and there were no breaks in the case.

Christmas holiday would soon upon them. Sherlock finished up his last term of school the first week of December. Mycroft reminded his brother that they would be required to go to the country house at least for Christmas day and eve, to spend time with Mummy. Sherlock was loathe to leave London and he knew the cold winter was when the killer was most likely to strike. The colder the better. 

Sherlock obsessively poured over his notes on the case, feeling he was running out of time. He never told John that he had recently given up smoking (or anything else for that matter). With the stagnation of the case and no school, Sherlock was losing his mind. 

John suggested having a party at the flat, Sherlock thought this was a monumentally stupid idea. John had much to celebrate and Sherlock was just agitated. Now that he had no university obligations, Sherlock wanted to concentrate fully on the case. 

John had never seen Sherlock like this. Pacing, sitting, standing. Up all night, up all day. Home when John left, still home when he came back. No bath, same clothes for days. Won’t eat, won’t sleep. Miserable, difficult to talk to. Sarcastic. John tried to cope by spending lots of time with Mary, but that made Sherlock even worse, if that was possible.  
Sherlock’s notes were all over the flat. Taped and pinned to the wall mostly, he had a large map of London with details of the case marked. Where the bodies were found. Where the young men were last seen. Places they frequented. Where they lived, worked. He studied it, he stared at it. He threw things at it.

“I’ve got it.” He said finally jumping up out of his seat and punching the air, “Oh yes, that’s it.”

“What?” John asked, very, very tired of Sherlock by this point.

“Well--I’ll have to be bait.” Sherlock said with raised eyebrows.

“Explain, please.” John looked up from his newspaper.

“Well, I’ll go out, or --we can go out, to a pub, then we can part ways, then I’ll walk the streets, and let the killer find me. Just like the other victims.”

“Sherlock, that’s just about the worst idea I have ever heard.”

“Don’t be dull, John, really—it’s perfect, so very perfect.” He looked at the ceiling, his eyes glazed over a bit, lost in thought. 

“I can then get captured—maybe I’ll wear a wire and radio Lestrade if I get into trouble. It’s practically fail proof.” Sherlock was beaming.

“Sherlock, I’m sure your brother would object.” John was going to try anything to talk him out of this.

And this is when Sherlock laughed loud, hard and long. “John, you know I don’t care what Mycroft thinks.”

“What if it’s not a serial killer?”

“Of course, it’s a serial killer, John!”

“What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not.” Sherlock was adamant. 

“Leave it to the police.” John was now standing, his voice hard and insistent.

“I can’t. They aren't doing anything.” Sherlock was not backing down.

“Why not?—it’s their job, Sherlock.” 

“They don’t understand.” His voice was softer now, sad. He looked at the floor.

“What are you talking about? And what if something goes wrong?”

“What could go wrong?” Sherlock scoffed.

“Anything…really. What if you get hurt-or killed?”

Sherlock turned away from John, “I’m getting a bath, then I have to talk to Lestrade.” He disappeared down the hall, dumping his dressing gown in the middle of the floor.  
```````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
Lestrade thought it was a bad idea, but Sherlock told him he would do it anyway, with or without his help. Both John and Lestrade tried in turns to talk him out of it, but to no avail.

It took a week of meeting every day at Scotland Yard. Planning, getting Sherlock fitted with a very small wire and homing device that would be unobtrusive. 

The police had radios in the police cars and radios that they wore clipped to their belt, but they were large and unwieldy. And loud.

Sherlock had no time for the planning of Christmas parties. Not with a serial killer out and about in London. Well, the one they knew about, anyway. 

Mary was the most excited about the party. She had a guest list and a menu. Mary loved the idea that her boyfriend had a flat in London, as messy as it was. It sounded fancy and expensive. Her flat, a few tube stations away, was small and dismal. The Christmas party was all she could talk about when she was with John.

But John had other worries.


	9. Sherlock's Date

Sherlock spent a good many nights in pubs and walking the streets just to come up empty. Once started down a path, he was hard to stop. Sometimes John could go along, but sometimes he had to work and Sherlock had to go alone. Sherlock always wore the wire and was connected to Lestrade.

The current plan was getting tedious. He spent his days tracking down dentists and his nights walking the streets, getting nowhere. Wasting time. 

John decided to have the party before Christmas, because some people were going out of town. Sherlock left the planning up to John… and Mary. John did have party planning conversations with Sherlock, but they were few and far between.

“Hey- have you seen the new package of biscuits I just bought?” John asked. 

“In the lab.” Sherlock said absentmindedly, not looking up from the book he was reading on the sofa.

“The lab?” John was perplexed.

“The kitchen. Sorry, the kitchen.”

John suggested they invite Sherlock’s brother.

“Invite Mycroft? I know that is a joke, John.” Sherlock said from the sofa.

But Sherlock was helpful on one account. 

“John just remember, we’ll have to cut Mrs. Hudson off early. She has low tolerance for alcohol and will become inebriated quickly.”

John does not ask how Sherlock knows this, he just takes him at his word. 

`````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
John spends the day of the party cooking with Mary. They ran errands early and spent the afternoon cooking, cleaning and preparing.

‘Where’s your flat mate?” Mary wondered.

“He has a…. project. He will be here later.” But John wasn’t entirely sure if his flatmate would make the party at all.

Everyone showed up on time, except for Sherlock. In addition to his hosting duties, John kept nervously looking at his watch. 

John knew only Lestrade, Mike and Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade had to introduce him to Molly and Will. Mary invited a few friends from work. 

“Nice to meet you John.” Molly said, smiling. “It’s so nice to meet Sherlock’s new, new…”

Mary came over and put her arm around John and kissed him affectionately on the cheek.

Molly frowned and looked confused, looking back and forth from John to Mary.

“Oh! Sorry, I’m sorry.” Molly turned bright red and walked away with her head down to get a drink. 

John just shook his head.

Sherlock burst into the flat, door flying open with a bang, hitting the far wall, saying, “Um... hello.” He looked confused at all the people gathered in the flat and ran back to his bedroom.

John followed him, hands clenched.

“Finally! Sherlock! What took you so bloody long? You should have been here an hour ago!” John whispered harshly, as he followed his flatmate down the hall into the bedroom. 

“John! John! I have something to tell you!” Sherlock said as he took his coat off and uncharacteristically tossed it on the bed. He took his shirt off and was looking in the closet for a new one to wear. 

The door to Sherlock’s bedroom was open as they were having this discussion. Molly, Mary and Lestrade were all looking down the hall at them from the sitting room. Sherlock was standing shirtless and apologetic in front of John- who was obviously irritated with him.

“Don’t tell me you are leaving now! With all these people here, a party at your flat, no less! Sherlock, it’s Christmas!” 

“I know! It’s all falling into place now, John! The game is on!” Sherlock was excited, it took John a minute to realize it was not about Christmas.

John was thoroughly confused.

“What are you talking about?”

Sherlock looked at him earnestly as he changed into a clean, pressed new shirt.

“I have a date.”  
````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

“Oh my god.” John whispered, quietly. “With a dentist?

“No, with a bartender.”

“I’m sorry Sherlock, please enlighten me. What does this have to do with the bloody case?”

“Everything, John.” Sherlock said, deadly serious. “I think this bloke knows something.”

“And you’re sure this has to happen now?”

“Why ever not?”

“--the party?” John points out the bedroom door to the rest of the flat. 

“Oh yeah, sorry-- can’t be helped. Got to dash.” Sherlock picks up his coat from the bed. 

“Wait.” John says firmly and Sherlock halts in his tracks. 

“Stop--just for a minute. Remember the other people who are trying to help you with this? You can’t do this alone. What about the wire?”

 

“It’s on—you saw it.”

‘I wasn’t looking. Wait---Lestrade—I think he’s had a few beers.” John is holding his hand over his eyes. 

“Well it’s you, then.”

“Fuck. Sherlock, now?”

“No time like the present, John. Strike while the iron is hot.” He puts on his coat and scarf. 

“Not funny.”

“Come on-- I can tell you more on the way.”

“I’ll have to make some excuses. Mary’ll be….Christ Sherlock, who’ll run the party?

“Mary, Molly and Mrs. Hudson. Hurry up John- We’re going to be late.”

“I have to go and get my coat.”

Just then Mary appears in the doorway, a perplexed look on her face. “John, is there something wrong?” she asks tentatively. 

“Um no, but—“ John does not know where to begin, but he has no time to tell the whole story, or part of it, either. 

“Mary?” He gives a sidelong look at Sherlock who dodges past Mary in the doorway.

“Yes, John?” Mary smiles patiently at him and waits.

“Well, um... something’s come up…a- and...” he begins stammering the start of a plausible excuse. If he only had one.

John does his best to try to explain to Mary what is going on while not explaining anything at all. Mary knows he is dodging the truth. Her very important party. Her friends from work.

“John, you are doing a really rubbish job of lying to me.” Mary looks at him very seriously.

“What? I’m not lying.” John smiles nervously.

“Yes, you are.” She sighs, “John, I can’t imagine what is going on, but if there is something more important than this party, it's ok, go.”

"Wow great, really? Thanks Mary-- I can explain later. I really can. Sorry, so sorry. Thanks, you’re great.” He kisses her cheek. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You bet you will!” Mary says, cheekily.

John goes up to his bedroom to get his coat and something else from a box under his bed.


	10. Conditional Vulnerability

Sherlock explained on the way. They took a taxi back to the pub he had been to earlier in the evening. 

John was aware that for the last few weeks Sherlock's strategy regarding this case had been fruitless. He had frequented the pubs where the victims were last seen. After leaving each pub, he wandered around outside as long as he could stand it. Some of the nights were very cold. Usually either John or Lestrade were not far and could keep an eye (or an ear) on Sherlock. Lestrade kept in touch with Sherlock via the wire. If John could come out after his shift at the A&E was over, they would meet at just about the time that Sherlock was ready to give up and go home. Without anything to show for it, Sherlock had downed a number of pints in the name of crime solving. But tonight was different. 

As Sherlock had been sitting at the bar drinking, the bartender started a conversation. Sherlock reckoned he was about 30, with short dark hair. Single, no further education after secondary school. Lived alone. Parents deceased. 

“Hey back again,” The bartender said, smiling.

‘Yes,”

“Alone?” he had gotten Sherlock a pint and handed it to him. 

“For now.”

“Waiting for someone?”

“Maybe.” Sherlock answered, taking a drink. 

“I haven’t seen you with anyone.”

“Well, maybe I haven’t met the right person.”

And that was it. At the very least, Sherlock was getting picked up. At the very worst, he was meeting a serial killer. 

Now that the tides had turned, John was worried. “Fuck Sherlock, this is so stupid. I can't believe we are doing this!”

“John, you know the MET is over their heads. They’re not getting anywhere. This case takes a more subtle hand.”

“You don’t say. All joking aside Sherlock, you need to be more careful." John put his hand briefly over his eyes. "OK, what’s the plan?”

“I go into the pub, leave with the bartender and you follow us.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“Call the police. That has always been the plan.”

They got out of the taxi a few blocks away. Sherlock would walk the rest of the way, alone. John would follow a few moments later and wait for him to come out and then follow. John was not happy that he did not have a way to communicate with Sherlock inside the pub. He was also unhappy that it was the coldest night of the year. 

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
Sherlock went into the pub. John looked at his watch. 20 minutes, 30 minutes--this was far too long. He thought of calling Lestrade from a payphone in case he sobered up, maybe he could come out. 

They had not come up with a contingency plan for this scenario. What could Sherlock be doing in there for so long? John decided to go in. 

The pub was dark, it was late. Only a few people were at the various small tables and at the bar. No sign of Sherlock. Fuck. He asked the bartender, a blonde woman, if she had seen him. She told him he left with Sam, the other bartender who was done with his shift. Left? Out the back door, she said and pointed. 

“That’s where Sam parks his car.”

Fuck.

John flew out the back door, just in time to see a car start to drive off down the alleyway. He could see Sherlock in the passenger’s seat. 

John pulled out the gun and shot out two of the back tires. The car stopped. Running up to the car, the driver got out just as John got to the car and John punched him right in the jaw and he fell to the ground, swearing. 

Just then, the back door of the pub burst open and Lestrade and two officers appeared in the alleyway.

“Stop! Police!” the officers shouted and they ran up to the car to apprehend the man on the ground. John had already put the gun back in his coat pocket. He could also hear police and ambulance sirens approaching. 

He ran over to Sherlock who was mostly unconscious in the front passenger seat. He was breathing and had a had a good strong pulse.

Lestrade appeared at John’s elbow. 

“How is he?” Lestrade asked, out of breath.

John re positioned Sherlock so his breathing would be easier. “He’s breathing, but we’d better get him to hospital, we don’t know what the hell that bloke gave him. Who called you? How did you know to come?”

"Sherlock called me. He hit the button. You know, before...." Lestrade waved at the unconscious Sherlock.

As the police officers placed the suspect in handcuffs, Lestrade said, “You stay with Sherlock, I’ll go to the front of the pub to wave the medics back here.”  
Lestrade turned to go back down the alley to the door he said, “Don’t worry John, Sherlock has a strong constitution. He’s like a cat with nine lives. He could probably tolerate a lot more than you or me. One good thing, being a recovering drug addict.”

John looked up at Lestrade, “What?”


	11. Not the End

The bartender, Samuel Carson was arrested on kidnapping, unauthorized practise of medicine, unlawful restraint, and attempted murder. Lestrade thought that they had enough to go on to charge him with the disappearance and murders of the other young men, because they found items belonging to the victims in his flat. 

In addition to being a bartender, Samuel Carson was a part time vet assistant and would nick animal tranquilizer from work. He kept it on hand in case he met someone he wanted to sedate. His MO was to put it in a drink he served the victim and then offer to ‘escort them safely home”.

Sherlock spent a week in hospital-turns out he had been given the equivalent of elephant tranquilizer and a large dose at that. 

Mycroft of course, was already waiting for them when the ambulance arrived at the hospital. He sat bedside vigil for most of the time with John. 

Sherlock was breathing on his own but was not awake. He was surrounded with monitors, needed oxygen and had IV fluids and medications running into both arms and his neck.

“John,” Mycroft began in a hushed voice at Sherlock’s bedside, hesitating, “I want to thank you--for being there-- for my brother. I don’t think he's ever had a more loyal classmate… flatmate…friend.”

Mary came to visit while Mycroft was there. When she came in, she kissed John on the cheek affectionately and John introduced her as his girlfriend to Mycroft. Mycroft raised his eyebrows. “Well, that will be my cue to excuse myself. I can stop by later. Thank you again, John.”

John stayed at Sherlock’s bedside, refusing to leave until he woke up. It took a few days. Initially Sherlock was agitated and pulling at his lines. The nurses were glad John was there to help calm him down and to explain what was going on. 

“Sherlock! Sherlock! Calm down—it’s OK! Hey-don’t pull that, OK? That’s an IV line, yes-- you have one in your neck, it’s got a purpose." he said firmly, "Don’t pull at it.” The nurses all were thankful for John’s help, he was so patient with him. Not to mention, strong as hell. John had to hold him down a few times and he was good at it. After all, it was mostly his job in the A&E. 

“John? What the fuck?” Sherlock was often wild eyed and agitated when he woke. Thrashing and fighting in a panic. 

“Long story, mate.” John would repeatedly say, “But you are safe, I’ll tell you later.”

“OK.” Sherlock would fall back calmly to sleep, only to wake up later groggy and saying funny things or shouting. This was much better than combative, though. John tried to redirect the conversation when he could, if he could. Sherlock would shout in French and German as well.

Once Sherlock was more awake, everyone came by to see him. Molly, Will and Mike stopped by with flowers and things to read--“Here John, you can have these.” Sherlock said, handing the newspapers and magazines to John.

Mrs. Hudson was in a tearful state, but she did bring biscuits. “Oh, you poor, poor, boy! You are so very, very, lucky that you have a friend like John! Such a lovely young man! And so brave!”

John and Sherlock did get a chance to discuss what happened after Sherlock became more coherent. 

Sherlock explained to John that he realized-- almost too late-- that the bartender had given him the drug-in public, while he was still sitting at the bar. Once the drug started to take effect, he had just moments to hit the panic button on the wire before the drug caused him to completely lose his train of thought. 

By the time John had gotten out the back door of the pub into the alleyway, Sherlock had indeed lost consciousness, but just.

“John, what did you do with the gun?” John acknowledged that the perceptive Sherlock that he knew was indeed back now. 

“What gun?” John tried to feign innocence. 

Sherlock smiled, “I know you shot the tires out. That was my last conscious thought. I distinctly heard two gunshots-- I knew it was you.”

“Sherlock, how could you possibly know it was me?” 

Sherlock laughed, “Mycroft is much more likely to carry a gun then Lestrade and even if he had a gun, Lestrade could not have had enough time to get to the pub from our flat-- after a few drinks.”

“That’s pretty impressive detective work for someone who wasn’t even conscious.”

“Don’t be impressed, I've had a week to sort it out.”

John wanted to ask more than anything, about Sherlock’s drug history. He wanted to clarify what Lestrade said, but he didn’t think it was any of his business to pry. 

He didn’t have to, Sherlock brought it up himself when they had a quiet moment before they let him go from hospital.

Sherlock began hesitantly, “John, I am certain… that due to my current predicament, my past drug use has come up.”

John looked at him, surprised. “Well…”

“It’s OK, John, I feel that I have to acknowledge it. Yes, I do have a history of drug use, but that is in the past. I have been in recovery for some time now.”

“Fine--but you don’t owe me any explanations, Sherlock.” 

“Well thanks, but it might be useful information to you at some later date.”

“Noted.”


	12. A Holiday Visit

After discharge, Sherlock was going directly to the country house with Mycroft. He was uncharacteristically weak, so he told John what to bring him from the flat as he had no clean clothes. The case was solved and he was being discharged home, so this was going to be his Christmas holiday/hospital recovery—at his family home, like it or not. 

John also had some time off work for the holiday. He planned to start university after the holiday, so he took time off of work to sort out classes, buy books and take a tour of the university to get a lay of the land. 

The boys discussed that John would maybe come out to visit the country house over the holiday. Mycroft even offered to send a car and driver for him, much to Sherlock’s surprise. 

John said he’d think about it. He had planned to spend some time with Mary. After his job, the case and Sherlock’s hospitalization, he felt like Mary had been sorely neglected. 

Sherlock left with Mycroft, John went home to meet Mary at the flat. He had many things to sort out before the term started. 

Mary and John were sitting on the sofa having a cup of tea finally enjoying a quiet moment.

“Mary, I never asked you how the party was. Sorry about all of that. It’s complicated-- I don’t think Sherlock could have handled all of that on his own, I hope you understand.” After John had explained the story to Mary about the serial killer.

“Oh the party was fine, we all missed you—the two of you, really. Everyone had fun, sorry your evening turned out to be so scary—and dangerous.” Mary shook her head, “It’s hard to believe John, that Sherlock really works with the police like that, he just seems so young to me.”

“He is going to be 19 soon, he tells me.”

“Well that’s just it, isn’t it?” Mary took a sip of her tea. 

“That’s not much younger than me.” John added, but after all that happened over the last week, John felt about 100.

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
Both of Johns parent’s had already passed away and John was not close to his sister Harriet and she did not live close by. He did call her to wish her a Happy Christmas and they decided to meet up after the new year. Mary was working over the holiday, but she was going home to spend Christmas day with her adoptive parents. Mary’s adoptive parents were much older and not well. She explained to John he could meet them another time. Just as well.

With time off from the A & E and girlfriend working most of the holiday, John was free to visit Sherlock. Mycroft indeed sent a car, as promised. Once John was inside the posh black car with his bag, headed south toward Devon.

John enjoyed the beautiful landscape. He felt like he was headed towards a real holiday, the kind he had not had in a very long time. John’s mood was light and he almost felt cheerful after the recent events.

He knew they were getting close when they got off the main road and started to make turns onto smaller roads, then unpaved roads. He started to see less cars. When they came upon the house, it was just as John had feared. Enormous. 

It was a large country estate. It sat in the middle of rolling hills. Sherlock would later tell him they had about 5000 acres here. It was dark when he arrived so John could not see everything.

Sherlock had been anticipating John’s arrival all day. He could not relax, he was pacing and wandering from room to room. 

“You have been looking out the windows all day, you might want to stop.” Mycroft mentioned lazily. He was sitting in the library pretending to read, but watching his brother's agitated pacing was more entertaining. And funnier. 

“Shut up, Mycroft. And don’t scare John, any more than you already have.” Sherlock spat. “Please.” He added nicely.

“John Watson does not scare easily, if you haven’t noticed.” Mycroft stood there, arms crossed in front of him. 

“I guess that’s why he agreed to spend his Christmas holiday with you, Mycroft,”

“And you, Sherlock.”

“Boys!” Mrs. Holmes said. “You will both scare him.”

The car pulled up and the front door opened and Sherlock ran outside immediately.

“Hello John, nice to see you.” Sherlock trotted out and grabbed John’s bags. “Mummy always said hippies use the back door.”

John laughed. “Well I guess I’m not a hippie.” He said as he looked up at the towering façade. 

John was shocked at the transformation in Sherlock. He had lost almost a stone while in hospital, which he could ill afford to lose, but it looked like he had gotten his energy back and was smiling. 

“I can show you the grounds tomorrow. I’ll take you to your room and you can rest before dinner.” Sherlock took John’s coat and left it with the bag in the front hall. 

Sherlock practically bounded up the front staircase. John’s room was in the back of the hall. “Here’s my room-- Sherlock indicated left side of the hall and here’s yours-“ on the right. John went into the room and saw a large four poster bed. There was a bath attached to the room.

“So, I’ll leave you and you can rest, or come right down if you're starving.” Sherlock disappeared.

John was thankful for the moment. He looked around the room and in the loo and washed his hands before dinner. He was happy to finally be here.

John trotted down the front staircase to find Sherlock in what looked to be the sitting room at the front of the house. 

“John, I’d like you to meet my mother and of course you know Mycroft.” he waved at his brother offhandedly and rolled his eyes. 

Sherlock’s mother was a beautiful woman. John shook her hand. She was about 55 with dark hair like Sherlock to her shoulders, beautifully dressed and wearing a string of pearls around her neck. 

She had a warm smile, “It’s so nice to finally meet you John. Sherlock talks about you quite often.”

“Mummy, please--.” Sherlock began.

“He does?” John asked, looking at Sherlock with surprise.

“Why of course, he does. You are his flatmate in London and apparently just saved his life and for that we are very grateful.” She beamed at John. He really hadn’t expected to be gushed over.

“Oh no, I- I really--“John began to stammer.

“Nonsense John, don’t be so modest.” She patted his shoulder. “Come, let’s have dinner.” 

Sherlock shrugged at John. They all walked into the dining hall. 

Despite the impressive house, there was no way of being intimidated by Mrs. Holmes. She was very sweet, she smiled and laughed quite easily. She made jokes. John was not quite sure she was related to the two other young men at the table. 

John commented that the house was lovely. 

“Oh, thank you, John, we’ve had quite some unruly improvements.” Mrs. Holmes laughed again. John loved her. 

There was wine at dinner. John made sure to stop at two glasses. Mrs. Holmes was very generous hostess, and the wine glasses were always full. 

After dinner, Mycroft and Mrs. Holmes let John and Sherlock have the television room. 

“John, I know you are tired, if you want to just go to your room let me know.” After Sherlock had given him a mini tour of the first floor. 

“No- it’s nice to sit and relax.” John sat on the sofa.

“Wine? Lemonade, cherryaide? Sherlock offered.

“No alcohol- I’m afraid I will fall asleep right there,” he laughed, stretching his legs and leaning back. “Uh, lemonaide?”

“Ok.” John followed Sherlock out of the television room to the kitchen. 

It was a great house. He kitchen was big with upscale appliances, a big table and a large kitchen island. Sherlock got lemonaide out of the fridge. He poured a glass for John and a glass for himself.

As Sherlock handed the glass to John and their fingers touched briefly. John looked up at Sherlock who was looking at him with an expression that John could not identify.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.” John looked away, cleared his throat and looked at his feet.

“Thanks, me too. I doubt there is anything on telly.”

After spending abut 20 minutes alone with Sherlock, Johns heart was in his throat. He had to beg off and say goodnight. He couldn’t take it any more. He went up to his room to think. /p>

He laid in the big four poster bed for a long time looking at the ceiling. By all rights, he should be asleep, with the fatigue and the alcohol. 

John came to the realization that he was afraid of how he felt about Sherlock. This was not a surprise to John, he just didn’t know what to do about it. Over the last few months, his feelings had changed and he was pretty sure he preferred Sherlock over Mary. He wasn't quite sure when it happened.

John had felt the same way once about a friend in the military, but you can’t have a relationship in the middle of a warzone. James was a great friend and they had gotten close while in Afghanistan, but there was a rapid turn of events and James was in an ambush and John got shot. It wasn’t meant to be.

Sherlock. When John sees him, his chest gets tight. He gets a pain in the middle of his sternum and he can’t think straight. That means something, doesn’t it? Fuck. He knew when Sherlock stood in front of him in the bedroom with his shirt off. He knew right then-- John couldn’t even look at him. He was talking about going to a bar and picking someone up. He was so cavalier about it! Christ! Then waiting for him outside of the God damn pub! In the fucking, fucking cold! While he was—aagghh!! Then in car, unconscious… it took everything he had to keep his composure in front of Lestrade. And in the hospital…sitting at his bedside, holding him down. John’s eyes stung. Some soldier he was. 

Sod this! John jumped out of bed. I’m going to tell him, right now. John paced around the room. No, I’m not. I don’t even know where I am in this bloody house. 

John could not keep his thought straight. What if Sherlock was not interested? Mary, what about Mary? No, it doesn’t matter, if Sherlock feels the same--that’s all that matters, really. I’ll just break it off with Mary. I can’t tell her why, but I won’t blame Sherlock, that’s not fair. 

But what if Sherlock doesn’t feel the same? Fine then. Oh well, then that’s ok, I’ll stay with Mary and try to work it out.

John got back into the bed. He tossed and turned all night. The next day was Christmas Eve. The dawn came up like thunder, since he did not pull the curtains, the morning light came through. There was a knock at the door.

"Hey John, There's breakfast...downstairs. I know you are fond of... eating." he heard Sherlock say through the door. 

John got up and opened the bedroom door.

“Goodmorn… oh hey-- you look like shit.” Sherlock whispered, concerned. “Are you ill?”

“Piss off, Sherlock.” John managed. “I’ll get a shower and then be down, ok?”

“Ok.” Sherlock left.

John felt better about his situation for a bit.


	13. Christmas Eve

John came into the kitchen to hear Sherlock and Mycroft having an argument about the Gregorian calendar. They stopped when he came in and looked at him.

“Oh, please don’t stop on my account.” He said with mock seriousness.

“It’s ok John--Mycroft was just leaving.” This was a very matter-of-fact statement. 

“Indeed, I was. Mummy and I were running errands, as we are pretty much out of time.” Mycroft left.

After breakfast Sherlock discussed options for the day with John. The whole day was open but there would just be the Christmas service either at 4 pm or midnight. 

Sherlock and John spent the day running all over the estate. Sherlock gave him a tour of the house and grounds. He pointed out the greenhouse, potting shed, ice house, Italian terraces and tiered gardens and small stone summer house. It was a wonder. John had not seen anything like it. It was unbelievable, just like Sherlock. 

They went to the 4pm Christmas service which was a children’s service, full of carols. They walked back in the snow, Mycroft having taken Mrs. Holmes back in the car. It was not a long walk, as the chapel was on the estate. The air was crisp and clear. Snow was falling, with about 1 inch on the ground. 

John did not have proper shoes on and neither did Sherlock. They slid all the way home and made a game out of it. John reached down and grabbing a handful of snow, made a snowball and tossed it at Sherlock’s back. Bang! Direct hit.

“John, you must know that this means war.” Sherlock said in a very measured voice and threw a snow ball at John, which he dodged. 

“Ha!” John laughed.

Sherlock was right after him, running at full speed. John ran the other way, but Sherlock caught him and they collided and fell on top of each other. John was flat on his back in the snow with Sherlock on top of him. They were both breathing heavily and laughing. They both stopped laughing and just looked at each other.

“You’re heavy.” Was all John could think of to say.

“Sorry, I can move.” Sherlock offered, his cheeks red and started to move.

“No…don’t.” John grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and asked. “…Please.”

Sherlock leaned down and kissed John right there in the snow.

Neither one felt the cold.

Eventually they had to get up or they would freeze. They were lost in a haze of each other, snow be damned. One of them had to bring them out of their reverie. Sherlock spoke first.

“John, um.. Mummy will wonder where we are.”

“Of course. Let’s get up.” Sherlock gave John a hand up.

“Hey um…I think we need to talk about this.” John said.

“Maybe when we get home and are warm.” Sherlock added. They ran all the way to the estate.

They were home in about a minute. They were both soaking wet and cold. They got strange looks from both Mummy and Mycroft when they got in.

“Hi.” John said, “Snowball fight.”

“Yes, of course,” Mycroft said nodding, but raised his eyebrows.

They both went upstairs to change into dry clothes. John went to his room and Sherlock went to his. Soon Sherlock appeared at John’s door. 

He came in and closed the door and locked it. “Hey, we don’t have much time but…” John was immediately in front of him smiling and grabbed him around the waist and pulled Sherlock towards him. Sherlock was taller than John, so he had to lean down a bit to kiss him. John pulled Sherlock’s shirt out of his trousers.

“John, while I appreciate your enthusiasm, my mother and brother may expect to see us again this evening.”

“Oh yeah, sorry.” John smiled, “Rain check?”

“Yes.” They went down stairs.

Mycroft was in the library when they came down stairs. “Aperitif?” He offered.

“Yes,” said John eagerly.

````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
They all stayed up until midnight. Mrs. Holmes went to sleep first, then Mycroft.

“Happy Christmas, boys,” Mrs. Holmes said before she went upstairs to bed, then Mycroft went up.

“Happy Christmas.”

Everyone had about 2 glasses of wine with dinner. The boys were sitting on the sofa in the television room. The house was quiet and the television room was dark. The telly as not on and hadn’t been on the whole evening. The half empty wine bottle was on the table. 

“Another glass of wine?” Sherlock offered John.

“Sure, why not.” He said.

“Sherlock,” John said quietly, “Did you know?”

“Yes.” He said, sitting down on the sofa right next to John.

“How?” John asked. He took a long gulp of the wine. He did not mean to drink so much tonight, but he knew this was going to be a difficult conversation. Not as difficult as the one he will have with Mary, though.

“I could read it in your eyes. I felt it when you stood beside me.” Sherlock looked at John, then put his head down.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” John put his left hand on Sherlock’s thigh. There was no protest.

‘How could I, John?” Sherlock put his right arm around John’s shoulders. “There was the case, then--Mary. My getting hospitalized did nothing to help the situation. It never felt like the right time.”

“How about now?” Asked John. “Is this the right time?”

“Well John, that’s up to you, I think. What about Mary?” Sherlock practically whispered the last sentence. He could not look at John.

John sighed. “Sherlock, I—wait, what about you then and the picking up guys in pubs?

Sherlock frowned, irritated. “That was for the case, John. When have you ever seen me pick up someone in a pub?”

“Ok sorry, what about anyone else?”

“There’s no one else, John. You are asking questions you already know the answer to.” Sherlock took a large gulp of wine.

“And before me?” John asked. 

“I never said I was a saint. Yes, I have seen people before you. Not many, though.”

“Blokes?”

“Yes, John.” slight eyeroll.

“You?” Sherlock asked, giving John a sideways glance.

“Um, no. Thought about it, thought maybe I was close once.”

“What happened?”

“Long story. It was in the military and well, the war got in the way.”

They were very close now, sitting on the sofa. The wine was finished. 

Sherlock looked over at his flatmate. “John?”

“Yes?”

“You are the one who has to make a decision, here. You have to choose.”

“I know.” John answered.

"And it's OK you know, whatever you want. It's....fine."

“Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“Will you sleep in my room tonight?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````


	14. Mary's Present

The boys woke up Christmas morning not knowing what time it was. John woke up first, and upon opening his eyes, looked to the right and saw the broad expanse of a very toned, naked back. As sleep fell away, he recalled the long night of very little sleep that he just spent with Sherlock. 

John could not see if Sherlock’s eyes were open or not, as his head was turned. Sherlock was laying on his stomach with arms and legs spread out giving John little room on his side.

John looked at the ceiling.

“Perhaps we could lay here for the rest of the day.” Came a very deep voice from the other side of the bed. 

This comment made John laugh out loud, “Sherlock, I can’t believe I’m hearing that from you, of all people. How did you know I was awake?”

“Your breathing pattern changed.” Sherlock turned to John and smiled, and then got out of bed to use the loo. When he came back he said, “We’ll have to go downstairs now, John, no delay.” He threw a pillow at John. 

With track pants and t shirts on, they went down to breakfast. Sherlock was wearing a dressing gown, John did not have one.

Mrs. Holmes had a great breakfast spread in the kitchen, the boys piled food on plates and sat at the table. John marveled at seeing Sherlock eat. There were quite a few mince pies on his plate.

“Happy Christmas, boys.” Mrs. Holmes came in smiling. “Please take your time. Mycroft and I have eaten, but I think I’ll have another cup of tea.” She affectionately touched her son’s shoulder. 

John did not see anyone else in the house, and he wasn’t sure if she did the cooking herself, but he was afraid to ask. 

After breakfast, Mycroft and Mrs. Holmes were sitting and reading in the front room, in front of the fireplace, at the other end of the room was a large Christmas tree. 

On the way to the front room, Sherlock whispered in John’s ear, “Mummy loves Christmas, hence,” he waved his hand at the tree.

There was a small pile of presents for each person, John was delighted to be included, as he did not expect this. 

John heard Christmas music playing-?from somewhere? And as he opened his presents, Sherlock whispered low in his ear, “I have a present for you, but it’s upstairs.” This made John choke a bit and he tried to cover it with a cough.

The rest of the day was open. “John, very often we do have a party, but have decided to forgo this year due to Sherlock being in hospital.” 

Fine by me, John thought.

Later in the afternoon, the boys spent a good while back in John’s bed. John was laying on his back with Sherlock’s head on John’s chest right below his shoulder scar. Sherlock had his eyes closed. John touched him gently on the back and said, “Hey Sherlock, when we get back to London, I…” and hesitated.

“Yes?” Sherlock sat up leaning on his arm and looked at John, frowning.

“I’m going to need time to sort out Mary.”

“How much time?” pouting, Sherlock asked with a slightly worried look.

John looked away and sighed, “I don’t know. I’m going to have to talk to her, and break it off… I don’t know how to do it, really. I…don’t know what I’m going to say…” he trailed off. “I shouldn’t do this over the phone. I should maybe meet her somewhere..or..”

“OK,” said Sherlock, as he turned away from John. “That’s fine.” John knew he didn’t want to talk about it.

John left it there, it wasn’t Sherlock’s problem. 

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
John went back to London on Boxing Day. Mycroft had the car and driver take him back. He didn’t want to leave Sherlock, really, but he knew Sherlock was still not 100% and didn’t want to tax him further. John also had a job to do and it weighed heavily on his mind.

Over Christmas, John saw Sherlock eat and sleep more than he had ever seen him do. He ate, he slept, he laughed. It was nice to see him with his mother, it was a whole new side to him. He even argued less with Mycroft, but just a bit.

In the car, enroute back to London, John’s thoughts were strained. He decided that when he got back to the flat he’d call Mary right away. Best not to wait. He decided to break up in a neutral location-there was a coffee shop close by. It would be nice and neat, he decided and he’d make sure he’d be a gent about it. He could blame school and work. Just too much stress, no time to devote to a partner, or something. Take a break and then…and one day maybe, no that’s not right, don’t say that. He decided he’d come to it when she sat across from him. The words would come, he convinced himself.

Arrived in London, he called Mary. She was in a good mood, she ‘couldn’t wait to see him’, his heart sank. She wanted to come over to the flat, no---no---but she insisted. 

John could not sleep. Mary came over the next day, as she had the day off. He tried to be calm. 

When she came in, she kissed him on the cheek, he had already put the kettle on.

“How was your trip to Devon?” she asked with a bright smile.

“Fine, yeah, it was fine.” He nodded. 

“John, are you ok? You look tired.” She said smiling.

John admittedly felt a little choked up. He cleared his throat. “Mary I…we…I wanted to talk to you, um…”

“I wanted to talk to you too, John,” she said. “I have some news, happy news, really.” 

“Well John, I’m pregnant.” Mary was beaming and standing in front of him.

“What?!” John could not believe what he was hearing. He sat down on the sofa, his knees weak. 

“I know John, it’s a surprise, really. Not expected, but, nice?” she looked at him for agreement, walking over to him.

“How did this happen?” John asked, mostly to himself. 

“John!” Mary scowled at him.

“No Mary, we… we… used.. we were careful…” eyes wide, he shook his head. 

“Well you know, contraceptives don’t always work. I know it’s unexpected, John, but I thought that maybe, you’d be just a little bit... happy?”

“Mary! I’m just starting university!” he covered his eyes with his hand. “Babies are great, and…but I’m not ready to be a father! I’m 23 years old, for Christ sakes!” John stood up. 

“Well, who’s ever ready, really?” Mary burst into tears, covering her face in her hands.

“Oh, Mary-- I’m sorry, this isn’t what I-I thought…” he trailed off, lost. John walked over to her and put his hand on her shoulder.

John was nauseated by the turn of events. Not the way he expected this to turn out at all. He needed space and he needed air. He walked away from Mary and sat back down on the sofa with his head in his hands. Mary continued to sob softly. The flat was very quiet.

John sighed. Mary, right. John got back up again and walked over to Mary. 

“Mary, Mary, listen-- it’s OK, really, I --I need some time, I’m sorry, I….it’s just a lot, right now, OK? I’m sorry. It’s unexpected, Mary. Not what… I thought… would happen today… OK? We can work this out. Have a cuppa, please, OK?" John tried to smile.

“Oh John,” Mary sniffed, “OK.” she walked into the kitchen as the kettle was boiling. Eventually, Mary calmed down and John convinced her to go and they would meet up the next day. He needed time to think. 

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
The next day Sherlock burst into the flat carrying bags. John was sitting on the sofa nursing a small glass of whiskey with ice.

“John! How’d it go-with Mary?” Sherlock asked. 

“Sherlock um…” John hesitated as he got up from the sofa.

“Don’t tell me—Mary’s pregnant.”

“Sherlock-how? No, don’t tell me how you sorted this one out, just don’t!”

“Well she was drinking water at the Christmas party…” Sherlock began.

John cut him off, indignant. “What!? You were there for less than 2 seconds!”

"John, you don’t have to shout.’ He took his coat off. 

"Why’d you even ask me if you already knew?” John sat back down on the sofa.

“I was being polite.”

"Sherlock, What are we going to do?”

“I think you mean, ‘what are you going to do’?”

“Thanks a lot, Sherlock.” John was angry, though he had no right to be. Things were not gong his way.

Sherlock was right. John is in-between a rock and a hard place, it isn’t Mary’s fault and it isn’t Sherlock’s fault. It’s John’s fault.


	15. The Solution is not Alcohol

Johns voice is soft and hoarse. “Sherlock, I’m going to be a father.”

Sherlock walks right up to John, standing in front of him, so close to him. Sherlock looks down at John, searching his eyes. “You didn’t break it off then? You didn’t tell her, John?”

John looked up at him sadly. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t know what to say. I need time to sort this out. I just want to do the right thing.”

Sherlock’s voice was barely a whisper, “What is the right thing?”

“Well, if this is my baby…” John began,

“--Is there a chance it isn’t?” Sherlock felt a tinge of embarrassment about the small nugget of hope there and it stung.

“I really haven’t thought of that, but if it is…”

“You don’t have to marry her, John.” Sherlock wanted his voice to be more stern, but what came out was a bit more pleading than he intended.

John sits down on the sofa. “Right, of course not, right…but I think she may expect... and I guess I have to make allowances…though, for time and money, oh God! Money!”

“Oh John, don’t panic, you’ll sort this out. Where did you leave things?”

“She’s coming over tomorrow, we're going out,” he looked at Sherlock’s concerned face. “…just to get coffee.”

`````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
John could not sleep. He spent the night in the sitting room, pacing the floor and going over various scenarios and responses he could try with Mary. Wracking his brain and getting no where.

Sherlock came out of his bedroom and stood in the doorway of the sitting room leaning on the doorframe. He was only wearing track pants, and he was rubbing his eyes. “John can’t you come to bed?”

“No sorry.” John was sitting on the sofa, with puffy eyelids, hair disheveled.

“I’ll rub your back.” Sherlock offered.

“I think that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard you say." he looked at Sherlock and shook his head. "Sorry, won’t help.”

“I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

“You never make tea.”

“There are often exceptions to rules.”  
`````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Sherlock puts the kettle on and sits down beside John on the sofa. It gets very quiet. Sherlock takes his hand and passes it gently over John’s upper back. They both look at each other briefly and John looks away. John turns back to Sherlock and realizes he is still looking at him. The air in the room is heavy as John leans in and looks briefly at Sherlock’s lips and then his eyes and then…

Turns his head away. He puts his left hand on Sherlock's thigh and gives him an apologetic squeeze and then lets go. John stands up, rubbing the heel of his palm into his eyes. John’s voice is very strained, “Sherlock, I-- I can’t—do this--not right now. My brain hurts. I’m sorry.”

Sherlock sighs and stands up and walks into the kitchen to turn off the kettle. He turns back to John with his hands up, as if to offer John peace, “John-- John, it’s ok, really. I understand. This—us---it’s not a good idea. It’s not. It’s ok. I’m not- not really, a- a very good um… prospect, anyway. I-um.. I tend to do.. um.. dangerous things and I am in trouble… um… most of the time and I get others in trouble as well and that would be bad-for you. And of course, the baby and Mary, of course.” He just stands there, looking at John.

The room is quiet, the building is quiet, there is no traffic passing by outside. “I’m sorry, John.” Sherlock says, head down, very quietly, almost a whisper. 

John clears his throat. “No, it’s ok, Sherlock. It’s not you, it’s, it’s…me. I’m sorry. Christ, I-- I have to think. I need time. I should go to sleep. Good night.” John’s voice does not sound the same to Sherlock. Something’s different. 

John starts to walk away towards the stairs to his bedroom. Sherlock starts to speak, quietly.

“John-do you love her?” he asks a whisper.

No answer from John.

“John-do you love her?---Answer me.” Louder.

“I don’t know.” John has his head down and can’t look at Sherlock. He walks up the stairs to his bedroom.

Sherlock stands in the kitchen, head down for quite a while. He walks into the sitting room and picks up his violin. He plays for a while and then goes to his bed and falls asleep in the early hours of the morning. When he wakes up, John has already left for the day.

````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
Sherlock gets out of bed with no plans for the day. No John. No case. No uni. Not due to meet his brother. He gets dressed, puts his coat on and leaves the flat. He goes straight to Tesco’s and buys a pack of cigarettes. 

It was so hard not smoking for so long. But there are some things that are lots harder to do. Sherlock had to do something to take his mind off the possibility of losing John. His thinking was taking him into a very downward spiral. He didn’t want to focus on comparing life with him vs life with Mary and a baby. They would be a family-John would one day be a doctor. 

He could go to Mycroft for help, but he’d just get reprimanded for getting attached. Mycroft, so cautious, so careful, so boring. He didn’t know who he felt sorrier for--Mycroft or himself. 

The buzz he feels from his first cigarette in a long time is great, but it won’t last long, he knows. As he walks down the street he runs into Raz, who is delighted to see him. He was not sure how he felt to see Raz, though.

“Hello, Raz.”

“Sherlock--how you been? Heard word you were an OD, mate, hope not my stuff.”

Sherlock is in no mood for jovial banter about his overdose, he does not answer him. He just stares at Raz, thinking, considering.

Raz looks nervous, has a small smile and looks at Sherlock out of the side of his eyes, “Well, just sos’ you know, my tackle box misses you.”

“I’m not sure I miss your tackle box, Raz.” Sherlock gives a rueful smile and a small chuckle, and then reconsidering, says, “Hey wait-- what’ve you got?”

“Come home with me an’ I’ll tell ya—better yet—I’ll show ya.” Raz, smiling and raising his eyebrows, always the businessman.

“Hey Raz-how old are you?” Sherlock asks on their walk. 

“I’m 16 now-- a man, mate.”

“How old are you?” Raz asks in kind.

“I’ll be 19 next week.”  
“Hey congrats-- how ‘bout I give you the birthday special?”

Sherlock calculates how much money he’s got in his pockets as he walks with Raz to his neighborhood in one of the poorest areas in London. He knows he cannot stay here long.

Raz’s mum is home when they get there.

“Oi, who’s this bloke?” Raz mum, looking much older than she likely was, sat in the kitchen, drinking tea. She looked long and hard at Sherlock, who gave her a small smile and a timid wave. Sherlock towered over Raz. She took in his expensive coat and shoes, so different than her son. 

“A mate from school, mum,” they walked past her quickly through the kitchen. 

“E’s no mate from your school, Davey, I know.” She laughed.

“Mum, you know I know lots o’ blokes.” He called over his shoulder as he headed towards the stairs to his bedroom, Sherlock following.

Raz leads Sherlock up to his room and shows him the tackle box filled with drugs. Unexpectedly, Raz's bedroom is filled with books.

“Raz, what do you plan to do with your life?” Sherlock asks, as he looks at all of the offerings and is feeling very philosophical. 

“I don’t know mate, but I feel like I got time.”

Sherlock, like a little kid in a candy store, decides what he wants and pays Raz.  
````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

John called Mary early in the morning and asked her to meet him at the café.

They ordered and sat down with their cups. John was serious and full of resolve, he did not want to delay this more than they already had.

“Mary, really, we have to talk. You are a very lovely girl and I am very excited about the baby, but we have to break up.” he said rapidly-- all at once.  
Mary was surprised and scowled at him. “What? why?”

“Mary, it’s just not what I want and I’m sorry. It’s not you, I just don’t want to get married. I’m not ready for such a commitment, now… at 23. I want to go to university and I am trying to remake my life after the military. I don’t even have a proper job.”

Mary stared at him blankly. 

“I—I’ll help you in any way I can with the baby. It’s my baby, our baby. I’ll help, I promise. Financially, physically, we can have shared custody or…”

“John, you cannot be serious. I think we make a great couple and so do my friends!”

“No, no Mary, I’m quite serious. I’m sorry, but I am just not ready.”

Mary’s face hardened.

“It’s Sherlock, isn’t it?” She said quietly, seriously, looking down at her coffee.

“What? No-what are your taking about?” John’s aim was too steer the conversation away from that area, Sherlock was quite the innocent party, here. 

Mary cleared her throat and spoke slowly with a voice heavy with emotion, “I know John, I see the way he looks at you. You can’t fool me. I’m not stupid, John. I know he’s in love with you.”

“Mary stop it, please.” John put his hands up, but he could not deny what Mary saw, because he thought he saw it, too. 

Mary got up from the table abruptly, he voice suddenly cold. “Well, Sherlock’s in for a big surprise if he thinks he is going to win this, I won’t let it happen. You and I are going to be married. I’ll see to it. Because I know something that you don’t. You’d better change your mind, John Watson. Reconsider--I’ll give you two days to change your mind.”

“Mary, please be reasonable now--. Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you.”  
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````


	16. Dopamine

John’s head hurts after talking with Mary. He wanders around London for quite a while sorting his thoughts. He just wanted this to be over, why does Mary have to be so unreasonable? Dating relationships are not under any obligation. Sometimes things just don’t work out.

He feels sad that they are broken up, but he has come to the conclusion that the relationship he had with Mary was over. It was probably over before the Christmas party, but the events of this week had finalized everything. 

Getting married to the wrong person just because a baby is coming is a bad idea. 

Even though Mary was angry now, John hoped they could have to some kind of working relationship, eventually. There really was nothing he could do until the baby was born. His hands were tied right now, but eventually he could ask for paternity test and then go from there. 

Despite his headache, John was now looking forward to spending the evening with Sherlock. John felt like he certainly owed him an apology for being so sodding confused and miserable last night. He considered getting Thai take away and bringing it back to the flat to try to make amends. If Sherlock was still talking to him. John thinks they may even have a bottle of wine, somewhere in the flat. It would serve him to rights if Sherlock was angry.

John also knew Sherlock’s birthday was coming up and they could maybe do something nice for that, too. Cake.

```````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````  
Sherlock walks back to the flat in a morose mood. He climbs the stairs and heads straight for his bedroom after he says a quick ‘Hi,’ to John, who is sitting on the sofa. He tosses the drugs in with his sock index because he doesn’t want John to see.

As soon as he sees Sherlock, John jumps right up from the sofa. Sherlock walked right past him, long legs taking him back to his room quickly. Sherlock shut the door softly.  
John tentatively walks down the hall in his socks and stands in front of Sherlock’s door. 

John addresses the door, “Sherlock-Hi, I-- I told her and we had a big row right there in the cafe. She did not take it well but I told her I wanted to break up and it’s over, mostly.”

Sherlock flings open the door but still does not open it all the way. He leans against the doorframe with door partially open and his hand still on the doorknob.  
“What do you mean, ‘mostly’ ?”

John sighs, “Well, she said she’d give me two days to change my mind.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head sadly. 

“What did you tell her, John?” Sherlock’s voice is soft.

“Well, I didn't tell her anything about us,” he clears his throat, “but I think she knows.” John gave Sherlock a serious look.

Sherlock has a very blank, composed look on his face and John just can’t read it. 

“Listen, Sherlock, I feel that I owe you an apology because I have been just completely been a berk about everything. That was not my intention, I was just over whelmed. Honestly, I still have a headache.” John gave a small smile.

Sherlock’s mouth is still set in a thin line and he looks down at his shoes. John puts his right hand on the door and gives it a gentle push. “Maybe, if you’d let me in, I could apologize properly.” 

Sherlock takes a step back from the doorway, letting go of the doorknob and turns away from John. John steps inside the room and closes the door. John walks toward him and catches him by the right wrist. Sherlock turns toward him, but does not look at him.

“I hope you’ll let me apologize.” John says softly, searching Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock, so uncharacteristically quiet, just exhales and looks away. John can’t be sure, but he thinks maybe he sees Sherlock’s bottom lip tremble just slightly. 

John realizes he is walking on very thin ice here and he is terrified to mess up. He puts both of his hands around Sherlock’s waist and pulls him gently toward him. He runs his hands up Sherlock’s back, feeling the fine fabric of his expensive shirt. He can feel Sherlock relax a bit under his determined touch. 

“I’ll rub your back.” John offers.

Sherlock laughs, “I think that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” And Sherlock leans down and gently kisses him. John reaches up to gently caress Sherlock’s face, his other hand on the side of his neck, holding him.

The kisses are gentle at first, then John lowers his hands to Sherlock's waist again, caressing his smooth muscular stomach and pulling Sherlock’s shirt tails out from his trousers. John runs his hands up Sherlock’s muscular chest and back and starts to open the too many buttons of his shirt. Sherlock gives a small moan at the touch of John’s firm hands and pulls John’s jumper over his head. 

Shirts off, they sit down on the edge of Sherlock’s bed, still kissing. Sherlock touches John’s cheek with his left hand, his right hand on his lower back. With one quick motion, he pushes John down onto the bed and climbs on top of him. 

The winter afternoon is dark and cloudy. There are no lights on in the bedroom. There is just enough light in the room for John on his back to make out the heavy glint and heat of Sherlock’s eyes above him. Sherlock sits on top of John’s thighs working at John’s belt. He leans down to kiss John’s firm, muscular stomach and John reaches down to touch the soft curls on his head. Sherlock works his way back up to John’s lips with kisses. John can hear him whispering endearments in French, but he does not know what the words mean. He’ll have to learn.

John is the first of them to have entirely no clothes on, Sherlock’s hands are everywhere, he is so eager. He wants to touch John everywhere and leave no part of him unmissed. He wants to kiss John everywhere and leave no part of him unkissed. All he wants is to hear John moan and gasp with pleasure. He makes it his job and he is good at it. He always has been. This is serious business.

Finally, John’s body tenses and bucks upwards and he gasps in a way Sherlock has not heard him gasp before. He then relaxes and laughs a bit. 

“Sherlock..ahh.. that was…unbelievable. You’d better give me a moment, I’m happy to repay in kind, but I can’t see or hear or move--anything--at the moment.” John’s voice is very heavy.

Sherlock laughs and lays next to John, holding him. In a moment John has recovered enough to get up and do his best to remove Sherlock’s belt and trousers. John kisses Sherlock’s full soft lips. He caresses his shoulders, chest and stomach whispering ‘My God, Sherlock, you are beautiful’. 

It’s Sherlock’s turn to lay on his back with John atop him. John’s knees are to each side of Sherlock’s legs. From here Sherlock can reach up to hold John around the back as John kisses him. He touches John’s face and shoulders, caressing his scar gently and then he drops his hands down, caressing his hard muscular back and then to softly caress John’s firm arse. John gasps again.

John moves down Sherlock’s body, kissing him and licking at the soft skin of his neck, chest, nipples and his soft, sensitive stomach. John puts kisses to each side of the delicate skin near his hips and Sherlock gasps. 

John is nowhere near a professional, but what he lacks in experience he makes up for in eagerness and devotion. Sherlock is writhing in the sheets under John’s care, and in between the moans and gasps, John gets rewarded with more French. He curses himself for not paying more attention in school. 

“Vos levres sont comme hiney,” aahh, “Votre bisou est un fue,” aahh, “Tu es mon bonhuer.” 

And then Sherlock stops and arches his back, coming off the bed in a near convulsion. The boys are completely covered in sweat in the winter, laying in a heap on the bed, just breathing. They both fall asleep for a while.


	17. All's Fair in Love and War

Sherlock wakes up in the middle of the night. 

Feeling sticky and chilled, Sherlock wakes John. “John, I’m going to the kitchen to get water. Can I get you anything?”

“Yes, water is good, thanks.” John mumbles from his side, away from the door.

Sherlock finds his track pants and pulling them on, walks down the hall into the kitchen. Running the tap he fills a glass with water. He hears a sound behind him and turning, is surprised to be greeted by Mary. She is not surprised to see him, and he realizes she is holding John’s gun, pointing it at him.

“Hi, Sherlock.” Mary is in the sitting room. 

“Hello, Mary. What are you doing with John’s gun?” Sherlock nonchalantly takes a sip of the water, Mary walks forward, backing him up against the edge of the kitchen table. 

“That’s a stupid question, Sherlock. I am here to kill you because I am going to win. Win John. I’m sorry, Sherlock, I truly am, but it has to be this way, because you are in my way. And you won’t be able to tell him because I will shoot you and run and he’ll not know who did it. He’ll not know it was me.”

“Mary, the gun's not loaded.” Sherlock said calmly, turning slightly to place the glass of water on the kitchen table.

“Nice try, Sherlock, but I know better.” Mary smiled and had an odd shine in her eyes, Sherlock hears a click.

“Do you know how to shoot a gun, Mary?” Sherlock asks calmly, backing away from Mary, leaning on the kitchen table. 

“Yes, I do. Aren’t you surprised?”

John is lying in bed waiting for Sherlock, fully awake now. He wonders what is taking him so long with the water. John gets up and grabs one of Sherlock’s dressing gowns and tosses it over himself to walk to the kitchen.

As he slowly walks down the hall, he can hear Sherlock talking to someone in the kitchen. What time is it?

He can hear. “--do you know how to shoot a gun, Mary?”

John halts to collect his thoughts. Fuck! Mary? a gun—what? --his gun?

John can see her standing in front of Sherlock. He has one palm up, and is talking to her gently.

Very quietly, John comes up behind Mary, grabs at the gun and knocks her to the ground.

Mary pulls the trigger and the gun goes off as they struggle to the ground. John can see Sherlock turn and fall in his periphery, falling backwards and crashing into the kitchen table. Glassware goes flying all over the kitchen floor.

John and Mary are on the floor fighting. The gun has gone skittering across the floor in the struggle. 

John yells, "Mary, stop struggling-- I don’t want to hurt you!"

Mary continues to fight like a wild animal.

"Mary, I have hand to hand combat training, please stop!"

John is on top of Mary, wearing Sherlock’s dressing gown, suddenly Mary rears her head backwards and hits John squarely in the nose with the back of her head. He is blinded for a minute and he is sure his nose is broken, but he still does not let her go. 

Mrs. Hudson is in the open doorway to the flat. She surveys the scene. John and Mary are struggling on the floor, still wrestling, the gun is in front them, just out of Mary’s reach. John's face now is covered with blood gushing out of his nose. Sherlock is flat on his back on the kitchen floor, conscious, but bleeding profusely.

“Hello boys. Oh hi, Mary. I wanted to tell you all that I called the police and they will be here any minute.” Mrs. Hudson says calmly. 

John says with great effort, “Mrs. Hudson, can I trouble you to come over here and pick up this gun, please?”

“Certainly, John, happy to help.”

Mrs. Hudson tip toes her way in her dressing gown and slippers through the broken glass and furniture. She gets a towel from the kitchen and picks the gun up with it gingerly. 

“Mary, did you shoot Sherlock? Oh my! How awful! Oh, and here Sherlock, here is another kitchen towel, you are bleeding all over the floor, best to put some pressure on that wound, dear.”

Sherlock takes the towel from Mrs. Hudson, and looks down at his abdomen. He holds pressure on his right abdomen, pretty sure this is just a flesh wound.

The police arrive, as well as an ambulance. The medics take Sherlock and John to hospital where they clean the wound and Sherlock gets 15 stitches.

John’s nose is likely broken and Mycroft meets them at hospital. 

Mycroft sighed, “Sherlock for someone so young, you have had too many trips to hospital. I can have my driver take you boys home.”

Mary is arrested for attempted murder. She is to get a full psychiatric evaluation in the morning. 

Back to Baker Street. They survey the flat which looks like a warzone. Sherlock sits on the sofa and John cleans most of the glass and Sherlock's blood from the kitchen floor. 

“I can help you,” Sherlock starts to get up. John puts his hand up. “No-- it’s ok, stay there. Rest, really, you were just shot. We still have the Thai and the wine I bought earlier-we never got to it. You can sit on the sofa and I can heat it up and pour wine.”

“Ok.” 

In about 30 minutes, after eating off trays, they are sitting on the sofa, drinking a glass of wine. Sherlock has a large bandage on his right flank where the stitches are.

“Let me look at it. Is it bleeding?” Sherlock lifts his t shirt and John looks at the large pressure dressing, it looks dry and clean.

“No, just sore.”

“Well, maybe you should take it easy for a few days.”

“I think I can do that, is that doctors’ orders?”

One week later the boys find out from Lestrade that that Mary’s pregnancy was not real at all. 

“Part of me was a little excited about having a little one, but I wasn’t looking forward to 2 am feedings.” John said.

“Well if it makes you feel any better, I can wake you up at 2 am every night.” 

Sherlock plans to clean and organize his sock index, he has some things he can probably get rid of.

\--FIN--


End file.
